


Coming Clean

by nneatcaroline



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age Inquisition, Gay, M/M, bath house, coming clean, mlm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 05:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nneatcaroline/pseuds/nneatcaroline
Summary: Rowan Trevelyn decides to take a break late at night, or rather early morning, and take a bath. But he's not the only one in need of a break.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ive never written a fic before bare with me.

Light, almost deft footsteps patted down the stairs. Careful not to wake anyone, the stealthed rogue finished paperwork then escaped to the Skyhold bathhouse. He stopped on the way, turned towards the cellar grabbing whatever he could quickly and quietly, then back on track.  
It was late, or early he guessed, dark outside, sky full of stars and a moon that took up half the view, he’d be perfectly alone.   
He slowly creaked open the door when,  
“Who’s there?” Two bright sources burst into flame, breaking the pitch dark room as Rowan hastily drew a dagger from his belt holding it out ready, on edge.   
“Inquisitor Trevelyn? Ha! What on Earth are you doing here?”  
Blinded by the mages hands lit with fire, he lowered the dagger squinting his eyes, “Who-“ but before he could finish saying anything the mage sent tiny spits of fire toward candles to light the room with a soft warm glow.   
“Ah, there we go! Much better.” A smug grin curled under a beautifully kept mustache.   
“Oh. Magister Pavus, I wasn’t expecting anyone down here. My apologies. I’ll take my leave.” Coming from a life of nobles and bards, Rowan was quite calm in uncomfortable or awkward situations. Stealing his heart back after being startled in the dark, sheathing the small dagger, he gave a small quick bow with his head and turned to leave.  
“That’s not my title.”   
Rowan turned back, “Pardon?”  
“That's not my title, Inquisitor. I’m a mage from Tevinter but no magister.” Dorian never sounded offended, just looking for an excuse to try to break the cold hardness of this seemingly emotionless man.   
“Right.” Rowan realized, “Not all mages are magisters, I remember now.” He said turning to leave a second time. He wasn’t rude just...no humor or spirit behind his words. To the point. As it is. Dorian hated that about him and was determined to make him laugh or smile or at least a hint of a smirk.   
“And you didn’t answer my question.” Eager to leave the naked man in the steaming bath, he faced the mage, willing to give an answer if it would allow him to escape. No words just raised his eyebrows staring back, one hand on the doorknob.   
“I had asked what you were doing down here. It’s very late” Dorian leaned back looking towards a window at the sky, “or rather early.”   
“I was gonna take a bath then ready for bed.”   
“Well don’t let me scare you away. I don’t bite.” Rowan paused a moment. He knew he needed a bath just as much as he wanted it. Between fighting and traveling and contracts and treaties, he barely had time to himself, only a couple months after the events at Haven and already swarmed with important to-do lists, but he didn’t want to be naked in the same room with anyone else.   
“Oh alright,” Dorian covered his eyes with one hand and spoke with the other, “I’m not looking. Better?”   
Giving in, but knowing the mages intent, he sat down the bottle first, then undressed, he let his hair down from the haphazard tie it was in and slid into the bath directly behind Dorian so there were a few feet apart back to back.   
It was quiet for a few minutes, when Rowan decided he did in fact miss the game of hide and seek with words he played as a bard, “I could ask you the same thing.”   
“Oh?” Half curious at the conversation and half noticing the bottle.   
“It’s early morning I’d imagine you’d be resting.”   
“No rest for the wicked I suppose. Plus the birds your spymaster keeps squawk all night.” Dorian leaned and reached around for the wine, “Do you mind?”  
Rowan turned and nodded. Dorian took a drink. Back to silence.  
30 minutes had passed.   
Dorians turn.   
He closed his eyes and waves his fingers tracing a symbol in the air. Rowan noticed the water was slowly heating up. He shifted, getting comfortable in the refreshing feeling of warm water, “Your doing Ser Pavus?” controlled words but like the water, warmer. Slowly teasing Dorian for a break in the monotone.   
He let out a small laugh, “In exchange for the drink.”   
“I’ll let you keep it then. My thanks Ser Pavus.”   
“Andrastate, always so formal are you southerners. ‘Magister Pavus’, ‘Ser Pavus.’” he mimicked, “Honestly Inquisitor you’ve seen me beaten and bloodied.” he took another drink.   
“What should us southerners call you then?” Never genuine curiosity. Always feeding the conversation to find something fun.   
“Dorian works quite well don’t you think Inquisitor?”  
He stopped to plan his next move.   
“No one's around, I think Rowan should work as well.”   
“Rowan huh?” Dorian sat for a minute and pondered over the name. ‘Rowan’ a nice name. A southern name for sure.  
A few more minutes passed.   
“Well,” Dorian leisured from the bath to grab a towel, quickly drying off before putting his pants on, “I believe I’ve given the birds enough time to calm down. I’m off to my quarters.” Rowan turned to acknowledge the departing comment.   
Dorian slightly bowed at the waist, “Rowan.” he said with a grin.   
“Dorian.” Rowan nodded.   
The game was only beginning and both felt confident in their place. Dorian was going to lighten Rowan’s mood. Rowan was going to make him work for it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since his and Dorian’s meeting, he started to watch him. He wasn’t stalking of course, he just didn’t want to be bothered if he tried to relax again, so he learned Dorian’s schedule.

It had been about a week since the Inquisitor walked in on Ser Pavus in the bathhouse. But once they left, they were both less formal.   
Rowan.   
Dorian.   
Sneaky games of treasure hunters searching for clues in speech to make the other tick. Certain words, certain timing all to read the other like an intricate book.   
One book wanted to pick the lock of the other.   
The other book would slowly unlock itself as it read.   
As much as Rowan missed the game, he missed relaxing completely alone even more. Back before the Conclave and the high scale responsibilities, where all decisions were undramatically life or death, he was happy. He had his own house to relax and be naked alone in, to choose who visited, cook quality warm meals, to be around his family.   
At Skyhold he had none of this. He wasn’t completely unhappy though, he knew his family was safe, since not many knew of him previous to the Inquisition.   
Meals were made out of the necessity to feed hundreds of people. He couldn’t lounge in a robe wherever he pleased. He understood how unimportant and privileged his wants were and knew he had to put aside wants for needs and he was fine with this. He just wanted it to be over and back to normal.   
Ever since his and Dorian’s meeting, he started to watch him. He wasn’t stalking of course, he just didn’t want to be bothered if he tried to relax again, so he learned Dorian’s schedule. He watched the bathhouse to see if there were any patterns there. Of course there weren’t any. It’s never that easy. He bathed when he felt like it, just like Rowan. All he could gather is that Dorian too, waited until the bathhouse was empty under the dark night.  
Seeing as there was no schedule, Rowan went by his own. They can’t always bathe at the same exact time on the same exact nights.  
He crept downstairs as he did just a week ago, but this time skipping the cellar. He checked the windows first this time. Dark, but certain no one was there. He opened the door, checked once more, got undressed and slid into the water. He was perfectly alone.   
But only for a moment.   
15 minutes later the door creaked. With one swift motion in one paranoid moment, he snatched the dagger hidden under his clothes and threw it in the dark at the door without care for who it was.   
There was a pause. Rowan felt the rapid thumping of his heartbeat. He could hear it. He could almost see it. Naked, in the dark.   
“You’ve terrible aim for a man who kills demons for a living.”  
Dorian.   
“I guess that’s a good thing in this situation, yes?”   
Rowan could hear the smirk on Dorians face. How the hell did he know he’d be here? He had to of planned this. He is too precise for this to just be chance.   
Dorian lit up the candle with his magic, Rowan still had one arm extended toward the door, the other tense on the side of the in ground bath.   
Dorian looked at him, looked at the dagger stuck in the doorframe, then back at him. “So paranoid that we forgot the drinks Rowan?” He smiled and revealed the same bottle from their last encounter. “Mind if I join?”   
He was right. Dorian had planned this, he knew it. Rowan would rather the time to unload the past week, but the game was to be continued.   
Rowan locked eyes with him as soon as the candles lit up, never wavering, even as he relaxed back down in the tub, inviting the mage in.   
“Wonderful then.” Dorian gave a slight nod and Rowan finally averted his gaze as he undressed. Dorian then strut passed the avoiding eyes of the rogue, sat the bottle down, and stepped into the water, back to back a few feet apart, mimicking Rowan from the past.   
A few silent moments went by.   
“So who is it from?” Dorian piped up.   
“Beg pardon?” Rowan spoke with a nonchalant tone.   
“Your name. ‘Rowan’. You’re a man of noble birth, obviously your name means something.”   
Taking in a breath to prepare for tonight’s dual, he let out, “It’s my grandfather’s on my mother’s side.” He paused and slid his hand over the water, feeling the light waves, “and yours Dorian?”  
“I believe it’s on my mothers side as well. She had strong magic in her blood and I suppose they thought it would carry over.”   
This time Rowan turned for the bottle of wine, “Can I take this?”   
Dorian turned and took a the bottle stealing a drink before handing it off, “All yours,” he leaned in, “but do be sure to share, no one likes the greedy.” A joke with a second meaning.   
Give me something I can work with. It’ll be fun.   
Rowan took the bottle and took the response. Thought about it. Drank. Then gave him something fun to work with, “Why did you decide to join the Inquisition?”  
“You chose to help the mages. I chose to help you in return.”  
“That’s not the reason.” He was quick to respond, barely giving room to blink between Dorians statement and his, “You tell everyone that. What good is it to tell everyone the same thing if not for consistency?”  
“You seem to know a great deal, Rowan. Indulge me, why do you think I joined forces with you?”  
“Tevinter looks like shit. Possibly the worst it’s ever been. Already at war with the Qunari, on the brink of a war with everyone else. I think you want to change that but have an ego to upkeep and can’t sound cheesy.”   
All Dorian could do was chuckle at how baffling it was that he was completely correct.   
Rowan gave Dorian the gift of showing him he’s missing out on an intriguing backstory that brought him up to be an observant, stern, and quite handsome man.   
“I suppose one doesn’t acquire the mighty title of ‘Inquisitor’ without seeing through masks.” Rowan saw that he may have dug a little too deep and lightly tapped on Dorian’s shoulder with the bottle as a peace offering. It is just a friendly game after all.   
“Oh, thank you,” he took this offering slowly and graciously as his finger lightly caressed the back of Rowan’s hand.   
He settled in with the drink, “I guess now it’s only fair for you to answer as well. Why have you stayed and taken on such a title? Maker knows you should have left ages ago but you never took the chance. Why? I might ask.”   
“Perhaps another time.” Rowan ended this round satisfied with what he'd given and received. He’d like to hold onto that for a bit. Drying off and redressing quickly, wringing his hair out, back facing Dorian.   
“What?” Dorian whipped around, taken aback by this abrupt ending. All Dorian could do was stare. Trying to read any sign of anything from this curious man. He wasn’t too hard on the eyes either. Right before Rowan turned back around, almost missing it. A light scar on his back only about an inch long. He quickly filed that away as an important detail.   
Rowan turned to face Dorian, bowed and blew out one of the candles, “Until next time, Dorian.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking up, he feared another fatal beam, but instead he saw a writhing mass of hot flames. Seeing Dorian, panting with anger and desperation, his eyes furrowed, face filthy with sweat and blood.  
> Damn.

God fucking damnit.  
We’re surrounded. None of the other rifts have ever been this fucking active why the hell is this one shitting out demons like a goddamn waterfall.  
Rowan went invisible to quickly climb to a higher advantage, but a terror spotted him and teleported right under him, sending him ass over tea kettle and landing flat on his back, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He tried to shoot the fucker while still down but then it screeched. Ringing his ears, a sensation he was all too familiar with, but this time to the point of bleeding. Finally he got back to his feet and the terror was struck down. All he could see was his companions getting swarmed by demons with Red Templars on the horizon. Eyes still wondering unable to focus, in a state of nauseating vertigo, he planted his feet. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his head.  
One for Warden Blackwall.  
Another for The Seeker  
And one finishing shot for Dorian.  
He sent three arrows to buy them enough time for him to close the rift or at least fucking disrupt it. But instead he was the one being disrupted. A despair demon saw an opening in his armor encasing his left rib when he activated the anchors power, and sent a beam of ice in a straight line, blasting him off his feet again, sending him crashing into a rock, cracking a few of the sensitive bones. Barely able to get himself onto his hands and knees from the searing pain, he puked. Looking up, he feared another fatal beam, but instead he saw a writhing mass of hot flames. Seeing Dorian, panting with anger and desperation, his eyes furrowed, face filthy with sweat and blood.  
Damn.  
Rowan took this chance to hobble as quickly as he could to his feet and close the rift.  
Fuck this shit.  
The party managed to help each other get to a camp and rest for the night. They would be heading back to Skyhold in the morning.  
You must rest Inquisitor! You can’t be rowdy, fighting monsters and such until you heal! You’ve got a nasty concussion and looks like your hearin’s out for a couple days you must lie down Herald Inquisitor! Remember to go easy on your ribs dear, don’t pick up anything too heavy and no drawing your bow!  
Rowan had had enough of the healers and chantry sisters and brothers hounding him about his injuries. He knew he was roughed up, so was everyone else but for some god forsaken reason they only bothered him.  
He was worried about his hearing though. He had always worried about his hearing since he was a boy. His mother would sing beautiful songs on one side of the house, his sisters would whisper secrets in the wrong ear, his father would teach him simple techniques and tricks of firing a bow, and he would have never known.  
When he was about three, his family caught on. They took him to a doctor to make sure he would be alright and that it was nothing major. It wasn’t, thankfully.  
He just was deaf in his left ear. A family of bards and their only son could barely hear.  
A couple months after the check up, his family got used to having to turn to his right or speak up. He wanted to be a bard like his mother so badly and was utterly distraught, often breaking down as a child thinking he could never be just like her. She pitied him dearly, never wanting her baby boy to feel left out or suffer. So they improvised.  
He could play the piano.  
They started him off young getting used to the keys, being able to read sheet music, and putting on small performances in their theater room with his sisters, they sang as he played in tune. He played and practiced everyday almost every hour, but he then got bored. So he picked up the violin. And then the harp. He loved these three instruments, the sounds they made, the feel of the keys and strings, the way the feeling of music replaced the sound of it. He was mystified at the almost spiritual experience he encountered with every note.  
His father taught him to be able to defend himself as well by handing down the family bow. He enjoyed this too, he needed more practice, seeing as the combat genetics were only faint compared to the music he felt naturally.  
When he and his sisters were old enough to go to college, they went. All to be bards as their parents, grandparents, and ancestors before them. A secret lineage of keen eyes and sharp blades, hidden by velvet tongues and attractive features.  
He better honed his skills as an archer in school, not much work went into the music aspect, but he was always stone faced and one-toned by default so quite a bit of practice in the the way of flattery and expressions.  
His hearing never stopped him though. He adapted and moved forward, graduating with his sisters, the Trevelyns were the best in class and in the field, the three worked best together, complimenting each other nicely as they all shared the same face.  
The triplets graduated with flying colors and went on as traveling bards playing beautiful ballads. His sisters singing emotional lyrics of love and loss while he elevated the emotion with rhythm and keys.  
But nothing could have prepared him for the ass beating he recently received. Bards occasionally scuffle, you have to be ready for anything at any time. But demons? Crazed zealots? Tainted magic infested templars? How the fuck do you train for this?  
How quickly he went from a sneaky silver tongued rogue to a leader of an army attempting to put the world back together. Rowan was kept awake by his thoughts. He needed to clear his head. He needed a bath.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan propped his right arm on the ledge of the in ground bath and rested his left by his side closest to Dorian.   
>  “Well then. Now that we’re all settled, will you finally answer my question?”

Rowan now longed for the game as he limped down to the baths. Previously put off that Dorian always knew when he bathed, but right now he was looking forward to it. A distraction from being impossibly sore.   
Please be down there. Please be down there. Please be down there.   
Rowan tugged hard on the door to compensate for currently only having one useful arm, but the door opened easily, he looked up and met eyes with Dorian.   
Thank the fucking Maker.  
“I’d figured you’d make your way down here. Come, let me help you.” Dorian pushed open the door allowing space as Rowan entered.   
“No need.” Rowan eyed him as the mage walked past.   
Shit. He realized. He’s the one who killed the despair now I have to fucking thank him.   
He had a problem thanking without meaning. If it was for a small deed like pouring him a drink or handing him an arrow sure. But to mean it or have it be deeply deserved. Like his father, he preferred to keep his feelings in check.   
“Suit yourself.” Dorian shrugged, unwrapped the towel just barely covering his lower half, a dark trail of hair peeking over the front. Sauntering into the warm water, he waited for Rowan undress.   
“Oh!” he covered his eyes with one hand and talked with the other, “Better?” He wasn’t even trying to hide the grin on his face. A face that Rowan started to see familiarity in. The soft warm glow of the numerous candles defining his structured features. Rowan took noticed in the way this lighting made Dorian look.   
He turned away and undressed.   
To Dorian’s surprise, Rowan slid into the corner next to him, instead of the bath behind.   
I won’t have to thank him if I forfeit this round. Might as well give him something worth it.   
Rowan propped his right arm on the ledge of the in ground bath and rested his left by his side closest to Dorian.   
“Well then. Now that we’re all settled, will you finally answer my question?” He was impressed by this move and it took all he had to hold his composure as the slightly younger, but rugged man sat but a foot and a half to his right.   
“Pardon?” He jerked his head and leaned in with his right ear.   
“Ah right the terror,” Dorian too leaned in and spoke up, “I've been awaiting an answer.”  
“My reason for staying?”   
He paused to figure his wording, “I knew that if I wanted to get back to my life before, things had to be fixed, and seeing as I was the only one who could fix things I had to stay. I didn’t feel there was much choice.” What he would give to play one more song with his sisters.   
“And what was life before like Rowan?”  
“What was it for you?”  
“I asked you first.” Dorian raised a brow and slightly cocked his head, looking toward Rowan not sure if he heard him.   
Don’t forget you owe me for that demon.   
“I was a bard.”  
I didn’t forget.   
“Oh come on, you have to tell me more than just that!”   
Rowan glanced, side eyeing Dorian. He didn’t quite catch what he said, but he could figure.   
“I came from a lineage of bards. My mother and father were performers, my sisters and I carried on the family legacy.” His voice stayed level as if there wasn’t a constant ringing, he’d been doing this for a while. “There are three of us, triplets actually,”  
“Triplets?! There are two more of you?”   
“Yes, Rowena, and Rebecca.”   
“Well please, tell me more.” He settled his head in his hand, waiting for Rowan to continue.   
“Rowena is the oldest, only by a few minutes, and Rebecca is the youngest.”  
“Leaving you as the middle child, go on.”   
Rowan continued, “Rowena would sing and sometimes Rebecca would as well, she would usually strum the guitar, and I would most often play the piano.”  
Dorian was eating all of this up like child with a holiday meal and Rowan was the silverware.   
“Most often? Would you sing as well?” Dorian didn’t know if he could even begin to comprehend Rowan singing. Among close circles he was secretly referred to as ‘The Statue’. Cold as if made of stone, little to no emotion. Though Dorian felt he favored the name more in his physique. Could a statue even sing?   
“No, I was always more instrumental.” This had to be enough. Rowan gave him his family, his life before, his music. All things he kept close. He felt he may have over shared and started to regret this.   
Dorian picked up on his discomfort though. “And you all have the same white hair and dark brows? Or is that a stylistic choice of yours?” He lifted his right hand from the side of the bath and flicked Rowan’s hair.   
Rowan glared at him briefly. “Yes, we all have the white hair. It’s also from my mother’s side. Her grandfather was a triplet as well.”   
“You get a lot from your mother, what of your father?”   
His attitude.   
“The bow. He was a very skilled archer even in his retirement.”   
Dorian laughed, “You have quite the family Rowan. I must say.”   
Rowan let out the smallest huff of a chuckle and the corners of his mouth ever so slightly curled.   
quite the family.  
“I suppose I do.” He desperately wanted to get off this topic. “And what of your family Dorian?”   
Finally.   
Finally.   
He did it. Dorian made this stone hearted man crack. It was as if he had been hammering for hours, days upon end and he finally made him laugh, a small laugh, but it was in fact a laugh.   
“Finally.” Dorian spoke under his breath.  
Rowan leaned in again pointing at his ear, “What was that?”   
Dorian cupped the back of Rowan’s head, bring him close enough to where his mouth barely touched his ear, “We’ll continue this later. Heal quickly, Rowan.”   
And with that, Dorian left Rowan in a state. Which state, however, Rowan had no clue. But it was an emotional one, he knew that as his heart sped.  
All the candles snuffed out when the mage shut the thick wooden door, Rowan was now naked, in the dark, alone, sitting eager to continue the game.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sat there for a moment while Dorian processed this and Rowan tried to think of something else to say. Dorian has been the first person to render him speechless, leaving him something to process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw kinda i think???

It’d been a little more than a month since Dorian and Rowan last bathed in each other’s company.  
And of your family Dorian?  
Of course that had to be the standing question. What else would it be?  
A few days after the bath, Mother Giselle gave Rowan a letter from Dorian’s father asking to have him brought to a secret location and meet a family retainer to escort him home. But she requested he not tell Dorian the means of this business. Rowan had only wished he’d known. But once they’d both found out what the business actually was, Dorian was fuming. Rowan wasn’t too happy about being deceived but nowhere in comparison to how Dorian must have felt. Forced on the spot, yelling at Rowan when he tried to excuse himself,   
“No! You wanted to involve yourself you should hear the truth.”   
Before, he wasn’t positive of Dorian’s sexuality. He’d admit to some curiosity though. Maybe Dorian just played it up for the game, depending on who he was with? Maybe both? Maybe Neither? But now he was certain. He was disgusted that he was somewhat relieved. Dorian was a fine specimen and Rowan had slowly started to taken notice. But this was wrong.   
They hadn’t talked since. No games. No banter. Dorian hadn’t tried to make him crack again or even get a response around the party when on missions.  
Rowan knew it was his fault too. He let his affair with secrecy get in the way of something that could matter.   
He’d put off bathing since then too in fear of their paths crossing. Though he was sure Dorian somehow knew when he entered the house and would avoid him, he didn’t want to take any chances. But he needed to, it’d been a month.   
He checked for any signs of life through the windows and listened attentively. He would be alone he was sure. His ribs all healed over, he opened the door and began to wash.   
His hair, as well as his beard, returned to its vibrant white color, scrubbing the dull, greasy, grey hue it had taken on. Caked in blood, sweat, and dirt all slightly tinted the water.   
He dunked his entire body under water and stared up. Lying in his back, looking into the darkness above with only two or three candle lit around the tub. He held his breath for a few minutes to think, until his lungs burned and his body ached for air. Rowan shot up, coughing and gasping for air. Wiping the water and hair away from his face, he took a deep breath.   
“You were down a while, I thought you’d never come back up.”  
He snapped his head up but he realized it was a familiar face, “Shit.” He exhaled with relief.   
“I’ve been avoiding you, Rowan. I was having a child’s fit thinking you’d manipulated me, turns out you were just as clueless. I was looking for someone to blame, my anger was undue. I know you’d never do anything of the sort. I apologize.”   
Dorian always had a way with words, in which Rowan never understood. He also always managed to sneak up on him.   
Slowing his breath once more, he wiped his mouth and beard, then gestured an invitation for Dorian to join him. Looking away as the mage sat to his left.   
Dammit I have to.   
“No I-“ he stopped only for a second. He feared any longer and he would lose his momentum, “I should apologize, instead. I had no right keeping your family's business from you. I understand, your resentment was, and still is, well deserved.”   
Dorian sat and marveled. He was being apologized to. He didn’t quite know how to take it, he frankly wasn’t expecting this. He was the one having to apologize for everything, especially things like this.   
They sat there for a moment while Dorian processed this and Rowan tried to think of something else to say. Dorian has been the first person to render him speechless, leaving him something to process.   
Then Dorian tapped lightly on Rowan’s shoulder and pointed to his own ear, he had something that he needed to tell him, “You are a very kind man, Rowan. I could never resent you for too long.”   
Rowan couldn’t stand to be this close to him. The way the faint warm light sculpted Dorian’s face. Feeling his breath against his cheek, as he spoke. The space between was hunger and agony all in one and he couldn’t suffer any longer.   
Without thinking, he closed the gap and locked their lips with inhuman speed, then reared back, his heart racing from the adrenaline and fear fear of what Dorian would do next. His eyes searched for a tell or some sort of response, but no time was allowed for results.   
Dorian snatched Rowan’s face, fingers interlaced with his beard, lips between his thumb and index finger and with the same amount of passion, Dorian closed the gap himself.   
Hot, wet, soft lips. Black and white facial hair tangled together as the two men went for each other.   
Rowan, still held in Dorian’s hand, leaned in and grabbed Dorian’s left side with his right arm and pulled him on top. Dorian now straddling him, “You’re being quite direct Rowan.” he growled. “How long have you been waiting for me to pin you down?” Rowan went in again no longer in the mood for talking, but Dorian pressed his hand firmly on his chest keeping him down. He leaned in, inches away, teasing Rowan, “Not so fast. Answer me.”   
“I’ve thought about you since Haven. I was so worried for your survival, I had to make it back to know you were alive.”   
“All this time?” Dorian slowly moved his hand up from Rowan’s chest to tug his head back by his hair,  
“I could just leave you here you know? And I just might.” Dorian released his hair and started to pull away, but Rowan dug his nails into his back. He hissed through his teeth and arched his back, “You get rough to get what you want, don’t you?” He in turn slowly clawed his hand back down to his chest then planted his arm on the ground next to Rowan and kissed him again.   
They continued on. Pushing and pulling, clawing and biting, yelling and groaning, wearing each other thin, both sweaty and perhaps even a little bloody.   
This was the longest Rowan had ever spent in the bath, but by the end he felt a very different kind of dirty.


End file.
